


The Stranger

by Kim_Kardashian



Series: Candor [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Cats, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 05:39:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10610403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kim_Kardashian/pseuds/Kim_Kardashian
Summary: When Yuuri moved to the city, he expected things to be different. Instead, he had cats to look after and a ceiling to fix. But as a photographer, he tried to seek inspiration in the mundane. And Viktor was definitely more than willing to cater to Yuuri’s needs.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I know I'm neglecting my other story but I was inspired! So I'm sorry, I'll get to ch 4 asap.

The steady _drip-drip_ from the ceiling kept him sane. Among the constant white noise of living in the city, this never actually bothered him. He's called maintenance a total of seven times, has gotten two voicemails promising they'll get to it right away, and hasn't lost his patience once.

At least his suspiciously stained carpet was spared. Of all things, really. Yuuri knew he could afford to move out, skedaddle to another mediocre apartment complex infested with _something_ and call it a day. The thought always passed his mind fleetingly when a struggling strip of wallpaper exposed the yellowing walls.

And although his financial situation required no remediation, he couldn't bring himself to. The hot water worked when it wanted to, his neighbors had really loud sex every three days, and it rained in his room when it rained outside. Yet Yuuri dealt with it because complacency was easier, and he felt so. So exhausted. Uninspired would probably fit the shoe better, but what could he do? The city had everything. If there was anything worse than having a scarcity of options, it was having too many. His camera demanded an explanation for his lack of proactivity and a soul. It was not as if he was voraciously active anyway, but his merit was questionable when he had no pictures worth sending to the university newspaper. Constant emails from the editor-in-chief always filled him with guilt, but undeniable pride laced his most mundane of days knowing his pictures were appreciated. It gave his day purpose. To some degree.

Developed pictures of Yuko littered his drawers, but he taped a specific one to the Wall. His favorite. She was naked, but he made sure to keep the frame above her chest. Her tattooed collarbones were beautiful, mouth captured mid-laugh, hand blurred but the edge of her eye had the beginnings of a crystal tear. He forgot what they were laughing about, it was a terrible picture, but it was genuine. As genuine as their break up was clean. Surprisingly easy. She was dating Takeshi now, but resentment wasn’t part of his DNA. Yuuri knew they were meant to be friends, nothing more and he was happy with simply that.

He could stumble into her apartment, drunk and on cloud nine, yet she would only hand him a comforter and a place on her couch. Phichit, on the other hand, loved to remind him that as an eligible bachelor on the east coast, he could do anything his baby heart desired. But Yuuri, if asked, was too much of a loser to actually want to pursue romance again. It took a lot to capture his attention, and maybe his standards were too high for someone so plainly average. No one remembered him other than his professors. He was typically known as the Asian kid who rarely spoke, but when he did, he made you question your existence. At least that’s what he assumed.

Exactly.

America hated him, too. As an English major, he considered leaving the States, crashing in Japan for a few years for funsies, coming back to settle down again. But he had a steady job thanks to Professor Celestino, his number one fan after his mother. Photography didn't really perk his interest at first. Led astray by classic novels kept him forging ahead to an ever-fluctuating future, but as funds went down and his meals became smaller and more convenient, he realized he needed income. Fast. It didn't help that the only jobs in the city required every dedicated hour of the day, not to mention the entire hiring process was a week-long wait. His hopes were answered in the form of a flyer in the chemistry department, and the reckless part of Yuuri wondered why the hell not? He knew nothing about photography, its technicalities, its “art.” The closest thing he had to art in general was his hard copy of Da Vinci's biography. Even that seemed too far-fetched, but he asked Phichit for his camera and proceeded to wander around, finding something “picture worthy.” And then he walked in the university's dance studio.

The dancers were stretching their legs, most positioned butterfly style. It stung a bit to see such talent, thoughtful frowns on their faces because they knew what they wanted to do. Every movement punched with passion, lifelong assurance, their eureka so alive. Yuuri had originally applied to the dance program, his specialty being ballet, but even that extinguished itself when he couldn't feel that vivacious yearning to inspire. A waste, his instructor had said. A natural talent thrown away.

But the best of the best stepped down, his parents in Hasetsu filled with disappointment, a silent question of _what do you want, Yuuri?_ The world, it seemed, but not really. He loved writing and reading, he was a very simple person with very simple pleasures. And lots of anxiety. He had pressed the shutter and caught the attention of every individual in the room. And the picture, he liked it. Almost considered keeping it for himself just to alleviate his existential crises. Which were increasing in frequency.

It was a club, he soon learned later. They met up weekly, practiced, and performed for the Winter Fair and Spring UniDance Fest hosted every year on campus. Hours of labored dancing, mild hissy fits, but otherwise a great production.

Wondered if they would get a breaking turnout, yet it held no personal importance to him anymore. He would be present and capture every movement. Sometimes he would hesitantly partake in their practices, never revealing his familiarity or past association to dancing.

Because he told himself it didn't matter. Who was he kidding?

-

The harsh whistle of the kettle declared an end to his nap. He noticed the kitchen's light bulb flicker and the idea of replacing it _again_ gave him heartburn. His mug had a large scratch on its side, the ceramic chipped from years of use. But he shrugged it off and poured the water, letting the tea bag steep for a few minutes. Yuuri finally looked at his living room, actually looked at it and wondered when he had let it get so...messy. His socks were everywhere. The violin tipped itself closer to the edge of the couch, its bow loosened dangerously and the rosin worn. Placing his mug down, the need to piece his existence together again was overwhelmingly strong.

Cleaning would allow him to focus on something other than his languid, non-exciting, daily routine. If Phichit was here, it would be damn sparkling. He found himself thinking that a lot lately.

If Phichit was here, then ___ wouldn't happen. If Phichit was here, he wouldn't be compelled to ___. If Phichit was here, he wouldn't feel ___. And it was ridiculous. Relying on others to do simple tasks shouldn't be this extreme, life wasn’t a fill-in-the-blank. Dependency was dangerous, and although he lived alone now, he actually couldn't help the sliver of concern he had for himself. _I need to leave the apartment_ , he decided. Casting a final look at his tea, he dumped it in the sink and poured the cold red wine instead without as much as a second thought. Yes. Being an adult at its finest. He downed it all in a gulp, exhaling deeply. The weather didn't seem too bad today. Autumn had definitely announced itself boldly this year, not that he was complaining. The reddened leaves and occasional wind only required a thin sweater, so he halfheartedly tied his laces and moisturized his nose. Yuuri loved his evening walks and oddly enjoyed being a mere spectator in the lives of passerby. Hands tucked in his pockets, he debated whether take-out should fulfill his daily quota of social interaction. Five bucks can fill him up with a wicked fat cat sandwich. And. Well. The smell of Fat Cat Deluxe always promised a horrendous number of calories, but he indulged himself anyway because he had no self-control.

As he walked back home and rushed so he could gorge his treasure down, five cats were avidly looking at him, eyes expectant. How ironic. He totally forgot about them. The strays loved to lounge on the steps of his complex, their squad recognizing and anticipating his daily dose of love. Noting the empty dishes with a sigh, he wondered if the tuna cans in his cabinet would be enough for today.

-

What a miracle to be alive, said no one. Yuuri glared at his watch, its needle refusing to move. What he had to do today was another story. The scarf protected his neck from the whipping wind, but its fabric wasn't kind. Irritatingly itchy threads grazed his skin like sandpaper, teasing him every time he turned his head to narrowly avoid an oncoming car. Yuuri ignored the urge to claw at it and pulled his thick sweater closer to his frame. Wondered vaguely when was the last time he washed it. But that didn’t matter right now. Because practice would start in less than twenty minutes and it was the first meeting of the semester and he was extremely excited. Heart in his throat excited.

Today's weather didn’t echo his entire outlook for the past week. Roads were darkened by rain. Puddles and fields of grass became sluggish _mud._ It made him wary of carrying his most expensive (and treasured) possession.

Sight of the old building urged him to rush; he ran cautiously, ignoring the burn on the tip of his nose. Everyone knew Yuuri always arrived first, was always the one to set up the mats, equipment positioned to capture as much as possible. He hated being late, especially when it brought attention to himself. The door opening with a loud creak gave him immense satisfaction, his soul calm knowing he was first and alone. Again.

Although Yuuri was just a photographer, he also stretched before the others. Each person would trickle in one by one, usually half an hour later. He had twenty minutes to himself, his thoughts, wondering who would be new and who would return. Closed his eyes and felt the cords of his muscles pull wonderfully.

He inhaled the polish only to stop when the door opened. A man stepped in, his eyes inquisitive when he looked at Yuuri. His legs were curvaceously toned, chest taut and built. The man only smiled broadly at him and Yuuri smiled back, not saying anything. It was silent, but the man stretched as well, his body barely resisting the exertion of his exercises.

Yuuri stood, and set the camera on focus. Tipped the tripod a little. He pressed the shutter for a test shot and let the loud click echo in the room. The man froze, but said nothing as Yuuri continued. He kept his face hidden, unsure if continuing would be rude.

Perhaps the tension was entirely in his head, but the moment people began to join them his shoulders sagged in relief. There were faces he didn't recognize, probably freshman. Of course, the moment he made eye contact with Chris, the other man didn't think twice and suffocated him in a bear hug. Dubbed a “beautiful pole dancer,” Yuuri felt his face burn and avoided the questioning stares from those in the room. He was well aware he usually dressed like a Sunday school boy, his typical button ups and signature satchel distinguished him on campus, his appearance far, _far_ away from casual. He waved Chris off with a glare, determined to participate as little as possible and save his dignity. What little remained of it anyway.

If there were receipts of every single time he’s humiliated himself and compromised his integrity, it would be enough for at least a few lifetimes.

His pole dancing episodes usually happened when alcohol dominated his bloodstream, especially after dancing competitions. And Christophe, well. He’s always an enabler, through and through.

Christophe could seduce anyone with that face, but he also knew how to draw Yuuri out of his shell in the best and worst of times. They were stretching partners when Yuuri was still in the dance program, but Chris had the sense to never ask him why he strayed away to the English department. Which he was grateful for. And it seemed Chris knew everyone in the room, his magnetism and endless charm brushed the atmosphere with a layer of ease.

Yuuri smiled.

-

Ironically enough, this year's theme was seduction and yearning. Seduction. He mulled over it, tasting the word and reading its official definition. Ensnaring someone completely, serenading them into a promising maze of pleasure, the purveyor of temptation, the downfall of men.

Capturing that meant he had to have a fundamental understanding of seduction itself. And Yuuri.

Well.

He continued chewing on his granola bar, ignoring how the steam from the shower fogged up his glasses. He left the wrapper on the sink and peeled off his t-shirt. But yearning was even more complex. Yearning was something he was very familiar with, in a way that hardened his cynicism but has humbled him into taking action. If that made any sense. Seduction can be purely objective. His yearnings have never toed into the realm of romance. He's loved, he's loved many times. But hasn't loved deeply enough to feel afraid by the mere intensity of it. To love so freely and fearlessly, he's not so keen on the idea. This unwarranted, split second anger dissolved into confusion. People made it seem so _easy_ , simple enough that there were songs, plays, and every medium of human expression dedicated to this mere emotion, because love. It seemed like everything. Evoked and unfurled the hidden shadows in one's being. Was there something wrong with him? He supposed that's why Yuko didn't really immerse herself. He sees the difference when she's with Takeshi. It looked so _natural._

When they were together, he tried to fulfill his duties as a romantic partner, the general standards. Gave her everything a boyfriend should, at least from what he’s seen. Took her on dates, held her hand, gave her a timid kiss at the park. Played a song he had written for her on the violin. Which was why Yuko cried as she told him that they couldn’t continue.

 _I love you too much_ , she had said. _Too much_. As he had reached to touch her shoulder, she flinched and hugged him strongly, her hands pulling on his shirt and shuddering as she tried to muffle her hiccups. The spray of scalding water cut an end to the memory, a hissed “shit” escaping as he turned the squeaky knob to the right.

-

The chasm between Yuuri's sanity and insanity wasn't too wide. He had a dainty grasp on control, because he loved to be prepared. “Expect the unexpected” and “mind over matter” were daily creeds, which was why he could barely contain his irritation when Muscle Man was in the dance room, stretching his merry legs. The man had arrived before him, clearly. Now Yuuri was very familiar with the principle of sharing, but this was supposed to be _his_ private time. Isolated pits of inadequacy were soothed in this room, and this was was pushing his buttons. So Yuuri skipped his stretches, silently fuming, and set the tripod. Aggressively clicked his camera in place. Pressed the shutter and left the flash on spitefully. The man continued stretching, his calves blissfully unaware of his wordless tantrum. Anger wasn't an emotion he brushed upon too much. He was quite talented when it came to camouflaging the ugly, masking confrontation, and swallowing his depression. ‘Internalizing’ should be in his résumé.

Stretching silence between them remained undisturbed until people slowly filled the room, joining in on the stretches and lunges, immune to his frustration. He watched them pick their dance partners for the performance, discussing songs and coupling ideas to incorporate in future routines.

Chris only lingered around, shooting Yuuri an endless tirade of winks, dazzling everyone like always. But he steadied the focus on Chris’s chin, determined to find an unflattering angle. There had to be one and he happened to be quite skilled with double-chin hunting.

As practice really began to unfold, he couldn’t stop himself from greedily pressing the shutter after a particularly complex, but emotional routine. The sweltering heat in the room baked his brain, yet he continued to snap pictures, his anger retrieving into the uncharted depths of his mind. Three hours later and oddly satisfied, everyone left, solid ideas quite established from what he's heard. This practice had drained him in every way imaginable and he couldn't wait to get home and sink into his bed. As he dismantled his tripod, there was a gentle tap on his shoulder. Yuuri ignored it, prepared to tell Chris to expect the loss of a limb when his eyes locked with the very person who ignited his long-forgotten rage.

“I'm Viktor,” he said, eyes twinkling with playful mirth. “You must be Yuuri.”

“Yeah?”

-

_You're beautiful when you're angry._

He shut his eyes and pathetically tried to bleach those words from his mind, and _unhear_ them. The ceiling continued to leak. His fingers tightened around the bridge of his nose. If only Phichit saw him now.

Yuuri knew his waves of anxiety could be blamed on other things, but as he looked at his wall it only mounted itself in his throat. His fingers fiddled with the projector as it rumbled to life, casting a blue blanket in the entire room.

Seeing the man— _Viktor—_ consume his entire wall, the razor-sharp curve of his jaw, eyes pinched shut, muscles tense in that timeless stretch. The corded veins only emphasized the massive build of his arms, and Yuuri wondered how he let this one person conquer the entire storage in his camera. He clicked next, again and again and again, Viktor completely aware but still unabashed every single time.

Beauty, Yuuri knew, opened all doors. It unlocked confidence and opportunities and love. This man, regardless of how irritating could be his focus. Could be the window he needed to capture seduction and yearning since his beauty was that potent.

But Viktor called _him_ beautiful. Yuuri has never heard anybody describe him with that word, it would have seemed tasteless coming from Christophe, terrifying if he heard it from Yuko, but no one had ever considered him to be beautiful. At all.

Yuuri knew he was terribly plain, an insignificant speck of dust in the entire universe who spent too much time with his thoughts than in the moment, a mere existence in the entire sea of faces. But beautiful?

It used to make his heart brittle with shame and his stomach nauseous when people seemed confused that he still existed. Of course he knows he matters to a handful. To his mother, his family, Phichit, Yuko. But they're friends and family, they were supposed to care? And then he would hate himself for believing he needed validation from people who were caught up in their own worlds to worry about others.

The city certainly has that terrible magnetism, to make one believe they were a part of something bigger yet remain insignificantly solitary.

Why Viktor spoke to him at all would remain a mystery, but he knew at least there was someone. Someone who thought he was beautiful. How bizarre. The projector flickered the image a bit, but he could still make out the laughing lines on the corner of those remarkable eyes.

-

This week had been the most taxing since the semester began. His ineptitude to maintain social connections with people proved to be sad when he stuffed his face in the pillow, the worst possibility coming true when living alone.

His throat burned, felt stuffed and tight. The red digits in his clock declared the time to be 6:47 AM, yet those four hours of sleep meant nothing when he was wide awake, unable to ignore the bursts of shivers that racked his body. Every muscle protested, every bone creaked and ached, his chattering teeth relentless as he headed to the living room.

The fever would be a week-long haunting, but the pounding headache topped it all off like a forgotten accessory. His thoughts were in disarray, the sweat glued his shirt to his back, and Yuuri remembered why he hated being sick. It happened once a year, but when it hit him, it knocked him off his feet and reminded him he was merely human. Turning on the heater and shuffling to his closet, he was completely careless when pulling out the ugliest sweater he owned. It was XXL, but denying free clothes from university festivals was never part of his nature.

The cabinet taunted him with expired medicine, which meant he had to leave his humble cave and actually walk outside in the cold. He could call Phichit or Yuko, but having to burden them at a time like this was not even an option. Yuuri hated being roused from the dead before eight AM, and imagining Yuko weary and fussing over him could absolutely _not_ happen. Drawing the curtain, he took note of the pouring rain, the way it pattered harshly on his windows’ rusting iron bars. Which could only mean one thing.

The small puddle in his room laughed at him as he struggled choosing a shirt to sacrifice. Grabbed his trusty bucket and tried eyeing the ceiling. It probably wouldn’t be great to head out, but an Advil was definitely needed, and if he wasn’t going to take care of himself, who would? It’s not like he could breezily call anyone, Yuuri has never been that type of person. He cannot for the life of him stand reaching out for favors, or even impose a slight inconvenience without reliving it every time he breathed. His jacket was thick enough to block the whistling wind, his face tucked in and arms curled as he stuffed a wrinkly bill in his pocket. Advil, chamomile tea, and orange juice. Maybe some chocolate since he’s pretty sure he can treat himself. _I have abs, so. This is fine._

This was not fine.

The closest convenience store, the one that wouldn’t tax his budget conscious mind, was four blocks away yet it felt like the longest trek of his life. Longer than a flight from Japan to the States, longer than his _Introduction to Soil Science_ class, longer than his sad music playlist. What was worse was the way his body shook uncontrollably, begging for a soft and warm surface to rest on. Simply walking was hell, and he could barely bring himself to speak when the old man behind the register greeted him with a chipper hello.

Meds in hand, hands shaking, he walked briskly back to the complex, and wondered if the cats found adequate shelter. A flick of rain would land on his face sometimes, but seeing the rusted, chipped _104_ on his door made him happy. The bowls were underneath the stairs, which meant someone had moved them to protect the food. What a kind soul. He stepped in quickly, breathing quite labored, and slipped off his shoes.

Almost on autopilot, he opened the bottle of Advil and popped the two pills in his mouth, gulping water hastily. Without a second thought, Yuuri looked at his bed, peeled off the second tucked comforter and closed his eyes.

_-_

The third time he came to, his head only had the echoes of the throbbing pain from before, but his fever was definitely kept at bay. Prominent indentations on his arms meant he stayed in that one position for hours, but at least he could raise his leg without wincing. It’s nice to function again.

A potential breakout was promised by the greasy layer of sweat on his forehead, but it meant nothing compared to _forty-eight_ unread text messages in his notifications. Yuko was hysterical (he texted her good morning every single day), Phichit asked if something was wrong (which meant Yuko approached him for answers), and two unexpected people he wanted to murder in no particular order.

Chris made sure to obnoxiously demand why his “favorite photographer/pole dancer” wasn’t at the dance meeting.

> _Yuuri ;)_
> 
> _Why?_
> 
> _What?_
> 
> _Where? Practice started 15 minutes ago babe!!!!!!!_

Followed by a pouty selfie.

And then the most absurd words instilled the desire to strangle Chris into the afterlife 

> _I gave Viktor your number_
> 
> _Sorry haha_

If the way his heart beat went from steady to a haywire made the situation any worse, it was the quiet, but confident knocking that began.

> _Hello this is Viktor_
> 
> _We’re neighbors just so you know_
> 
> _i’ll be there at 730_

Neighbors? Of all the most improbable coincidences to happen, of course he didn’t approve of this universe. They barely knew each other? What gave Viktor whatever his last name was the idea Yuuri wanted friendship, or anything for that matter? Yuuri prized his privacy, his solitary and self-loathing lifestyle. In no way did he welcome strangers or people who were a little too confident, too bold. Waiting in bed seemed like a great idea, in fact, he could pretend not to exist. Not that he ever struggled with that task to begin with. Yuuri looked at the time, and indeed, sadly very true. It was 7:32 PM, and here he was, prepared to leave the physical realm, ascend into the heavens and apologize to Viichan for joining the spiritual world quicker than expected. He clenched his arms, determined to create as little noise as possible, praying Viktor would get the message that he wanted nothing to do with interaction.

“Yuuri?”

His name sounded different tinged with an accent. He pulled his comforter over his head, but the oh so thin walls made his guilt knee deep.

“Yuuri! The cats are hungry, I’m not sure what food you feed them.”

His treacherous soul froze, and he now felt like an asshole. The cats, how could he? They usually ate right after his daily 5:30 run, so he stood up for the first time in hours, a little unsteady but otherwise less painful than before, ignoring his glasses altogether.

The bucket was bordering on to dangerously full, but he’ll fix that situation when he’ll have to and walked to his door. Considered whether this choice would impact him on the long term. He could just wait for Viktor to leave, but Viktor clearly heard his footsteps and knocked again for emphasis. As if needed.

He didn’t know what to actually expect. The sight of Viktor would probably overwhelm his extremely fragile heart, but that sliver of anger he had dismissed returned with full force again, his opening of the door a lot more violent than the age of this building could handle.

He hoped he projected every emotion in the blackest glaring expression on his face, but it seemed this man was immune to everything slightly negative because Yuuri received a simple, hearty smile. Felt slightly self-conscious when he realized he wore pajamas and an oversized sweater while Viktor had the most crisp and ironed shirt he’s ever seen.

“Why are you here?” He asked, words thick with exhaustion.

Undeterred, Viktor only pointed at the door behind him. “We’re neighbors. I live across the hall,” he said.

Yuuri sighed, never tempted to end a conversation so soon. “And?”

“You were not at practice. I was concerned.”

“I’m sick.”

“Aren’t we all? What do the cats eat?”

Yuuri frowned. He wasn’t sure why he was compelled to even reply with a shrug, but he left the doorway and opened his cabinet to pull out the bag of cat food. Viktor followed him with certain hesitance, arms crossed, stare expectant. The uncomfortable silence didn’t fade, but it seemed this was one-sided since Viktor still looked quite unperturbed. Yuuri placed the cat food on the counter, which was quickly taken outside.

“I’m going to feed them.”

Yuuri nodded silently. The sound of Viktor’s footsteps accompanied the pouring rain, but he could still make out the grateful meows and Viktor’s hushed laugh. He rubbed the nape of his neck, unsure if furthering the cold shoulder would be necessary. He can’t be mean to someone who was taking care of the cats, _his_ cats, and for some reason, it warmed him to know that someone gave an inkling of their time to care about other living beings. It’s so easy to disregard the weak and silent, he can definitely attest to that.

So when Viktor reappeared, his windswept hair slicked with rain, Yuuri allowed the barest of smiles to slip through.

“Do you want tea?”

-

“Osmosis is the diffusion of water through a semi-permeable membrane.” Viktor cleared his throat, and Yuuri couldn’t bring himself to say “shut up.” Their Silent Era in the dance room ended with limited preamble; now the sound of Viktor’s voice accompanied the pungent smell of lemon and wood. He leaned forward, letting his hamstring cry in pain before curving his spine upward. “I’m proctoring a lab bio exam in two weeks,” Viktor continued, unaware or simply careless at the fact that he was the only one willing to supplement the room with sound.

“Mm.”

The bones cracked as he twisted to the left. “Yuuri?”

“Yes,” he breathed, steadying his form as much as possible. Exhaled to tense up again.

Viktor coughed, mumbling. “Practice is cancelled today.”

Yuuri whipped his head back, eyes narrowed. Oh no. That meant he was wasting time when he had other assignments to be working on. Not that he was going to submit them on time, but still. “How- “

Viktor flashed him his phone’s screen. “Chris just texted me. Apparently, the room is being booked for…” He was cut off when an onslaught of people came in, children to be exact, gleeful excitement filling the air at once. “Dance class.”

They watched as the tripod teetered dangerously, and Yuuri’s lungs collapsed when it finally managed to tip over as a boy ran past it. Viktor’s hand was there in a heartbeat, the camera safe and tripod sound. “Thanks.” He wheezed, cringing at the thought of having to replace it. All of his savings were in store for a drone, but to start at zero would mean another five months of waiting. They rushed to pack up their equipment, answering a few pesky questions, although the overwhelming cuteness made it tolerable.

“Bye, camera man!”

But it was nothing compared to the massive attention Viktor received. The dance instructor simply smiled, offering no protest to this hubbub. It was impulsive but— “Can I take a picture of you and the kids?” 

With a nod and affable wave, and before he could really stop himself to understand his actions, he readjusted the lens and took a shot. Viktor grinned, and Yuuri couldn’t really say anything. They gave a final hasty good-bye, and took in the rain. Everyone was running to their cars or seeking refuge underneath a ledge, umbrellas whipped up. The pelleted drops were quick and merciless, too strong of a downpour to simply be called rain. Familiar and immune to the discomfort, Yuuri stepped out, immediately attacked by quick, wet bullets. His umbrella was home, and honestly, paying for a cab seemed a little too ridiculous.

“Yuuri!”

He turned, Viktor’s confusion transparent. “What?”

His bark of laughter caught him off guard. “Well? You’re not walking alone in this weather.”

It was Yuuri’s turn to laugh. “It’s water, Viktor.” His fringe slicked itself down, adding to the fact that his glasses made it impossible to see anyway.

“And your camera?”

“The bag is waterproof.” So many questions, but he would never leave anyone hanging. What was it with Viktor anyway? Sure, they were neighbors, but this ongoing camaraderie was almost insistent. And it wasn’t annoying per se, but Yuuri knew he was the most uninteresting person on the planet.  

“Let’s go get coffee then.” Almost reflexively, he was so prepared to decline the offer, but Viktor’s tone left no room for further discussion, stride quick and decisive as they waited for the light to turn red. The nape of his neck felt damp and cold. But he couldn’t bring himself to hate it; this kind of rain was nice. Cleansing, if that made any sense. The skies weren’t grey or pillaging with depression. It was a white blanket, where the clouds and sky were one, the trees and grass vibrantly yellow. If he could capture this right now, he would. It’s why he wanted a drone, he’d have so much potential and great material to work with.

Lost in his thoughts, he realized he was far behind Viktor’s pace, but as Viktor’s red sweater became darker by the minute, they finally found a coffee shop where they were more than ready for its promising warmth. It was small, and very minimalistic. Most of its décor was wooden, complemented by _a lot_ of succulents. Very easy on the eyes. “I like their paczki. Do you want anything in particular?”

Yuuri opened his mouth. “You don’t have to pay— “

There is was again. That marble persistence. And saying no would make him an asshole. “I invited you here. Tea or coffee?”

Granted, it had been a while since he’s gone out with anyone. His bouts of solitude usually meant his complacency was manageable, but right now, he could feel that whatever this was wouldn’t be so bad. In fact, Yuko and Phichit would encourage him to start socializing and expanding his network of people. Perhaps this was a chance to redeem himself, in some way. For worrying them with his hermit ways. “Tea,” he said, hesitance still worming through. “Um, never mind. Chai latte.”

Satisfied with that answer, Viktor smiled and went to order, giving him the task to pick their spot. He looked around, noting that only a couple and an older man were seated near the window. But the table with the small orange succulent caught his eye, and he gladly put his stuff down the chair and shrugged off his parka. The instrumental music kept him company until Viktor came with their drinks, expression relaxed and eyes clear. He also had a small plate with two pastries, powdered and pretty big. “Paczki,” Viktor explained. “I chose the strawberry and whipped cream filling for you. I figured you like sweet things.”

“I do. Thanks.” He blew at the rim of the cup, a bit hesitant to ruin the design. Viktor continued to look at him, analytical and sharp. “What?”

“Nothing. I realize you’re very reserved.”

“Me?”

A wry smile made his embarrassment present itself on his cheeks. “Yes, but you’re really open at the same time. It’s strange.”

Yuuri took a careful sip. “I barely know you,” he said, glasses fogging up again with the steam. He removed them, feeling naked as he did so. Up close, he could see Viktor had a beauty mark underneath his chin, a scar near his brow. It rarely came up in the shots, but it made him even more human. Why he sat here when he could be at home, brewing some tea and curling up on the couch with Mahler’s music in the background.

“But _I_ know _you_.” Viktor nibbled on the bread, his lips powdered white. “Not to sound odd, but I’ve been watching you. You’re something else, Yuuri.”

He choked on the latte, feeling it burn his throat as he coughed. “Yeah. I’m not that surprised by that.”

“I mean it in a good way! You’re a hard worker, you care about those cats, and your taste in music is incredible. I love listening to what you put on when the neighbors are busy.” It was the absoluteness of those words that made him stop chewing. He couldn’t deny it, it made him feel warm. But anyone could say that, and it was difficult to hate Viktor when he was in a coffee shop drinking tea and eating some pretty damn good paczki.

“Thank you. I’ve been uninspired lately, which explains…this.” It slipped out, and before he could assess the damage or try to retract his statement, Viktor nodded in agreement. A little too quickly.

“Yeah, me too. My dancing is absolutely terrible. I’ve been feeling a bit lost, but I’m trying to embrace it.” He watched the veins on Viktor’s neck as he swallowed his drink generously.

Yuuri tried not to stare too long, focusing on his palm instead. “That’s not true. Your form is excellent. But your footwork could use some help, I think. “

“So you _are_ a dancer!” Viktor declared triumphantly, fists banging the table. The barista frowned at the harsh clink and Yuuri was tempted to apologize profusely. “I’ve been trying to figure it out, but I knew you had to be a dancer. You move so…gracefully. It’s amazing!”

He shrugged, brushing aside the compliment. It was still hard to believe that, but if enough people said it, it had to be true. Then again, people love to lie and boost up fragile self-esteems so what does he know? “It wasn’t a secret. I just don’t dance anymore.” He hoped there wouldn’t be a follow-up question of why. Not that it was a dirty secret, but jumping the gun now would just ruin the mood and lead to a conversation about existentialism; and Yuuri wasn’t equipped for that unless it was 2 AM and he had two bottles of wine.

“You’re a photographer now? Are you majoring in it as well or…?”

“It’s a job slash hobby. The department hired me so I take and edit the shots, post them on the university website. Um, I do other events. The newspaper sometimes. But I’m an English major.”

“English major?”

Yuuri laughed nervously. He sounded like a wreck, quite frankly. Bouncing from dance, to English and photography. At some point, the orchestra might just be the icing on the cake if he took that into consideration. “Yeah. But I think that might be a bust, too. I’m trying to take my photography more seriously, but it’s hard finding a subject who matches my schedule.” Some test shots were pretty bad, and he desperately wanted to build a portfolio to strengthen his resume. He still didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life, but Celestino urged him that once he declared his major once and for all, he had to think about his options. Choose the direction his life would take, but there was grad school too so that was the least of his problems.  

Viktor hummed. “Really? What if I want to be your subject?”

His chai latte went down the wrong pipe again, but Viktor continued his tirade of utter seriousness. “When are you free?” He couldn’t believe it, but Viktor was whimsical, so he could.

“All the time. I don’t do much other than dance. I’m a TA at the biology building, but you can come with me to the labs.”

Yuuri swallowed, savoring the velvet of the sugar. It was good, and Viktor really had what he was looking for. More than what he was looking for if he wanted to be honest. “You’re a bio major?”

He suddenly understood the dark circles under those eyes and Viktor’s incessant need for coffee. “Yeah, it’s a little weird, right? I’m technically a nursing major but it’s bio that’s consuming my existence.”

“No.” An awkward pause. “A little. You don’t seem like the type is all,” Yuuri said, smiling. Nursing? He could see it.

 

That night, he couldn’t help but reread Viktor’s text.

_goodnight_

_and stop being so serious :-)_

-

It was a disgusting smell and it took his entire willpower not to gag at the sight, yet he was unable to look away. Viktor, of course, was completely serene. “So each person gets one?”

Viktor clicked his pen, eyes scanning for any confusion. “Yeah. This chapter is the digestive system, so they have to dissect to see that first. Next lab is respiratory and circulatory.” Yuuri cringed. He watched as each student made incisions, the entire room buzzing with intrigue and horror. Smelling formaldehyde was the worst thing he could possibly subject himself to after eating a Starbucks chipotle chicken sandwich.

“And these fetal pigs, don’t they rot if they have to keep using them?”

Viktor shook his head. “Not necessarily. As long as they don’t rinse the pig with soap, it’s pretty okay. If they do that, then the preservative gets washed away, and well. Uh, nature does its thing.”

“Thanks for the image there.”

Why he brought his camera should also be questionable. He didn’t want to take pictures of dead baby pigs being sliced open, but that’s why he was even more determined to try. Great material for some, maybe. He tried a few angles, stopping when Viktor had to quiz a student. It was odd to witness.

Viktor the dancer was much different from Viktor the bio TA. And clearly, he wasn’t the only one who noticed Viktor’s pleasant facial features or cheeky banter. The women gravitated toward him almost scarily, but Viktor was clearly oblivious to the effect he had on people. Which was great considering Yuuri had the confidence of a turtle and didn’t appreciate cockiness, thank you very much.

“Can I get my questions?”

Startled, Yuuri realized a young man, short and cheery, was staring at him. “I’m not-“

“It’s okay, I’ll hurry up if you have to get to class!”

Yuuri felt his face flush, and Viktor disappeared somewhere in a sea of demonstrations. There was no escaping this situation. “It’s not that, I’m not a TA.” He pointed weakly to his camera.

“Really?” The young man blinked, processing the lack of a clipboard and name tag. “Well, that kind of sucks. I’m Minami.”

Minami offered the brightest of grins, his hopeful eyes making it hard to be uncomfortable. “I’m Yuuri.”

“Yuuri,” Minami repeated. “That sounds cute. Are you part of the yearbook committee or did you finish your lab?”

Before he could stutter a response, Viktor interrupted with a gentle poke, curious. “Thanks, but no, not really. I’m just here to take pictures is all.”

Viktor nodded in agreement. “Yep, so Minami, I know you’re getting acquainted with Yuuri but it’s quiz time.”

Minami waved his hand airily, focus on Yuuri’s camera and face. “Are you performing this year? I mean, I kind of recognized you, but it’s great to finally talk to you in person. Your dancing is incredible.”

Yuuri opened his mouth, unsure of what to say. It’s been so long since someone commented on his past performances. Granted, it’s been a while since he’s danced in front of a large audience, yet it was confusing and slightly nostalgic. “I don’t really dance anymore, but you should go to this year’s. Lots of talent to see,” he said, mustering a thin smile.

“Can I get your email? I’m an animation major, but I’m dabbling with dance and movement-“

“Yeah, sure.” Yuuri avoided Viktor’s confused stare, accepting Minami’s pen and jotting his school email address on the lab book. Didn’t want to think about what this would mean as long as he was helping someone.

“Thanks!”

Yuuri remembered when he was that enthusiastic, and couldn’t help but like the kid just a little. He stepped aside to let Viktor do his job with a final wave. There was massive traffic in the lab now, and the smell only intensified as more fetal pigs were taken out of their bags. It was another hour until he finally had the chance to see Viktor clipboard-free, his exhaustion evident in the way he leaned on the desk. He took a few shots of model skeletons and students, taking particular interest in the lab’s tank full of crayfish.

Viktor offered a lazy shrug, and Yuuri pointed at the jars of floating fetal cats with a sigh. “Now that, that isn’t right.”

“Don’t remind me. I know every crevice of its body.”

-

Mahler, “Piano Quartet in A Minor”. He closed his eyes, hoping to blink away the fatigue. But no. Yuuri opened them again, his computer screen a lot more brighter and paragraphs melting into a jumble of nonsense.

“You, my boy, are deceased.”

Yuuri took a sip of his tea. “Am I now?”

Phichit raised an eyebrow, sass strong and will to live stronger. “I told you that morning run was a mistake.” A sniff. “And see? I was right.”

He reread the sentence, not sure if it was even grammatically correct. It looked…wrong. “The run wasn’t my idea, I already told you.” His wrist was starting to hurt, and the concept of not submitting this paper was starting to sound very nice.

“Yeah. It was _Viktor’s_. It’s amazing what a boyfriend can make you do. I haven’t seen you run since your Yuko days.”

Yuuri spat some of his tea, pain and suffering at a halt. “Where did you get _that_ from?”

Now that, that was an Idea. He could almost imagine Viktor pressing a hand to his chest dramatically, his usual exasperated “Yuuri, Yuuri. My Yuuri, you are mistaken.”

Phichit slipped his glasses off. “Oh, come on. We’re not playing this game right now. I have an entire book to read by eight AM and you’re dying on your keyboard. Do you want to die?”

Yuuri paused the music. “I run all the time. And yeah, right now would be preferable. But I seriously run. Like ten miles a week.” He pointed to the shopping bag on his bed. “I got running shoes yesterday. Nike’s.”

“That’s your concern? Me accusing you of only running when you’re in a relationship?”

“I’m not though. I’m not dating anyone. At all. And Viktor is a friend, he’s helping me with some side projects.”

Phichit sighed, aware that ignorance will always be man’s downfall. “Write your paper.”

Okay, so Phichit did have a reason to speculate, but Yuuri knew that nothing, nothing romantic at least, would happen. Because if anything, he loves whatever this is right now. It was bizarre, but he finally had enough material and Viktor was generally great. Kept him occupied when boredom was a threat, dragged his out of his apartment for a spontaneous movie, and yesterday, they ran. He actually came to enjoy Viktor’s company, because there wasn’t a question of more, and Viktor himself was just malleable. Made sure Yuuri was functioning on a basic level as a human being.

Yuko met him already, her approval skyrocketing when she realized they were neighbors. It was there, that concern beneath her eyes and demeanor. Yuuri being alone did scare her, and the fact that Yuuri finally had someone besides her and Phichit to spend time with was definitely alleviating.

“I’m not romance material.”

This conversation opened a can of worms, and Yuuri regretted it the moment it left his mouth. It was a big uh-oh when Phichit put his novel down. “Do you want to talk?”

“I don’t think I have much of a choice now.”

“You’re right. I’ll go get the wine.”

Yuuri cast a final look at his unrevised essay, saving and submitting it with a quiet “screw it”. Phichit returned in less than a minute, holding two huge wine glasses and a family sized box of Cheez-Its. The lighting was perfect, dark and intimate, which meant a Real Conversation was to unfold. Probably. Phichit whistled as he poured the red wine, taking a generous sip. “Ah. Now we’re talking.”

“So there’s no going back?”

“Absolutely not. Let’s rewind a bit. You think you’re not…meant for romance?”

Yuuri shook his head, letting the wine soothe his throat. Oh, this was overdue. More than his essay. “Not exactly. I just, I don’t think it’s easy.” He continued before Phichit could cut him off. “I know it’s not supposed to be easy. I understand. But, seriously. Look at me.”

“I can assure you I am, Yuuri. My son.”

Yuuri cleared his throat. “No. Beyond the physical dimension. You of all people know it’s not easy to be my friend.”

This was always a thought that dominated him during social situations. Because Yuuri knew what it was like to feel like an anchor. Not the good kind either, but the one that not only limits himself, but also his friends. Socialization is difficult, and not because he has anxiety, although that does play a part, albeit a small one. But simply being around people is too much sometimes, and keeping up and keeping touch is so much work. He enjoys time to himself, but he also enjoys a person who doesn’t necessarily ask too much from him. “No one is easy, period. And before you take that into future self-hatred sessions, I’ll explain to you that it’s not for the reasons you may think.”

The wine disappeared too quickly since Phichit kept pouring to the brim. “So I am difficult? You’re agreeing with me?”

“No! You idiot. Being difficult doesn’t have to be a bad thing either. You just love to live in absolutes, don’t you? Nothing is black and white, everyone has their vices. I mean, do you want me to be honest?”

Yuuri laughed. “Isn’t that what the wine is for?”

“I hate you.”

“Lies.”

Mahler was on repeat, but it suited the moment. At least for now. “You’re right. But look, Yuuri. Oh, Yuuri. Here I am, analyzing you instead of Foucault. You’re hard to understand, but like, it’s weird. Even now. You’re not telling me everything, and I’m okay with that. You’re literally the embodiment of a high schooler reading Shakespeare for the first time. Does that make sense?”

Shakespeare? “No. I hate Shakespeare.” As much as he hated frat parties, but he did go crazy his freshman year and lost consciousness more than he should. That was back then, and this was now. Talk about degradation.

It was four AM, and he was pretty sure he was astral projecting. Digging into his soul like Hamlet. “Okay, forget that then. You’re selfish. You’re in your thoughts. Unique, insecure, but amazing.”

“You make me sound terrible.”

“A cat, that’s what you are.” The Cheez-It’s were a mistake.

-

If wine was giving him a headache, it meant it’s been a while since any alcohol touched his system. Plainly, sad. He rubbed his eyes, feeling a throb on the left side of his head and wondered where his glasses were. And what was even more amazing was the fact that Phichit was sprawled on the couch, book crushed underneath, drool slipping from the corner of his mouth. What a sight.

The wine was gone, and the Cheez-It’s were everywhere. Before he could properly prepare himself, brush his teeth, learn to live again essentially, he heard the knock on the door. And he knew who it was before he even yelled out a “Who is it?”

At this point, Viktor simply knocked out of courtesy, and if the door was open, which it usually was, he let himself in. Like right now.

“Good morning my Yuuri. Here I am, who you’ve been waiting for!”

Yuuri flinched, the shrill greeting grating his brain. “Don’t yell. Just whisper.” He tasted the wine in his breath and felt guilty for some odd reason. Viktor finally looked around, noting the three wine bottles on the coffee table, two wine glasses, and Phichit’s corpse. The monitor on his desktop reminded him of the pitiful essay he submitted a few hours ago and Viktor’s eyebrows couldn’t get any higher. “Wow, you sure did a lot while I was gone.” He tsk-tsked, closing the door behind him and helped himself to some orange juice in the fridge. “Do you want tea or water?”

 _This is my territory_. “Tea. But let it steep for a while.”

Viktor huffed out a laugh. “Oh, yeah? Don’t like my _weak_ tea?”

Yuuri snorted. “It’s weak. We both know it.”

“Fair enough.” Yuuri busied himself with making the living room presentable again, picked up the sweaters, placed them on the hooks on the door. Piled the dirty dishes on the sink as Viktor rinsed the kettle. “Do you want me to make the pancakes or do you want to head out to eat?”

Phichit’s snoring was accompanied by Tchaikovsky, but Yuuri let him sleep, feeling a bit strange knowing that Phichit and Viktor were in the same room. It helped that Phichit was unconscious, or else he’d be making a few crude remarks about Viktor’s familiarity with his apartment. “Um. We can go to the diner.”

“Well, you better go shower and take some Advil, because it looks like your friend isn’t waking up any time soon.”

He couldn’t help the cringe. “Oh, yeah. He came over last night and uh, wine. Lots of wine.” There was not much to say without remembering every word of their “meaningful” conversation last night, so Yuuri let Viktor do his thing and headed to the bathroom. The water did its job rousing him from the other dimension, finally allowing him to settle into his body. And of course, he only had a drop of shampoo left, which meant another thing to worry about the moment he left his apartment.

Brisk and quick, he lathered and exfoliated. Yuuri didn’t trust Phichit to be quite reserved, and he was starving. That definitely helped.

“-right? I told Yuuri he’d make a great stripper, but he never listens to me.”

He opened the door, the saddest scene unfolded before him. “I can hear you.”

Phichit’s eyes were bloodshot, his fringe an absolute tumbleweed, but Viktor had done his part with a cup of orange juice and angelic smile. Tchaikovsky was now some rap song, and Viktor was happily pouring the water in his favorite mug. Now these circumstances were just not okay. “You didn’t wake me up to tell me _Viktor_ was here.”

Yuuri felt his face flush. He didn’t like where this was going. “You seemed really tired,” he mumbled.

Viktor, either oblivious or just deciding to be a tease, gave him a onceover. “Yuuri, your towel is slipping. And we’re out of cat food.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Look.” He shook the bag for emphasis.

Wow, so that added cat food to the list. It was definitely going to be a sad day for his debit card. “We’re going to PetSmart.”

Phichit cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll be heading out because this man has a date with destiny,” he said with a dimpled grin, bags intensely heavy Yuuri wondered if Phichit was being honest or was planning to sleep the moment he left.

“Text us when you get home,” Viktor said somberly, an expression so father-like it was almost as if his inner TA escaped. Did they really exchange numbers? Wow, a lot happened and he was only in the shower for like ten minutes. But Phichit had the charisma so it wasn’t that surprising. Yuuri ran the towel sparsely through his hair and settled on his couch. His tea was prepared just the way he liked it, and he couldn’t help but avoid Phichit’s searching gaze. Viktor continued to rap, his attention solely dedicated to washing the dishes.

“Okay.” Two syllables heavy with naughty suggestion and laced with wink, Yuuri was sure he was going to have an aneurysm. “You want me to head out now or-“

“Definitely,” Yuuri said flatly. The growling in his stomach refused to simmer down, and he’d be damned if he was going to let Viktor continue his tirade of housekeeping with Phichit around.

-

It was funny. And cute, so cute.

“Look.” Viktor whispered, as if he was afraid his voice would break them. The high-pitched cries were the most adorable thing, and they were immediately silenced the moment their small mouths suckled on a nipple. “They’re beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri whispered back, pressing his glasses closer to his face. There were three, two yellow tabbies and one tortoiseshell. His hands itched for his camera, but he settled for his phone instead. Turned off the flash because he was a decent human being and felt guilty for intruding. Their fur was still slightly matted, and the mom, which Viktor called Midnight (the most unoriginal name for a black cat), stared at them with such apathy it was almost offensive.

Viktor was the lucky soul to discover them since it was his turn to feed the Squad this morning. And lo and behold, there were new additions to this universe in the form of tiny furry burritos. “We can’t leave them here,” Yuuri said, mother hen activated and begging for kitten time.

Viktor whistled a merry tune. “We can move them to my apartment.”

“I have a huge cardboard box and a few old sweaters.” This was an unexpected turn of events, and not the bad kind of “unexpected” Yuuri was accustomed to. They were supposed to take the subway and head to Central Park for a mini photography/lunch rendezvous an hour ago. But here he was, watching Viktor stroke Midnight’s chin, her purr and delight so genuine, his muscular arm surprisingly gentle and touch so pure. Yuuri couldn’t believe it. “I’ll head over to the pharmacy and get a litterbox.” He cleared his throat awkwardly, not sure how to feel.

In less than two hours, they were equipped with the big guns: litter, a big bag of cat food, and a handy scooper. It was the first time Yuuri had ever stepped into Viktor’s apartment, and what hit him was the pungent smell of jasmine. It was so clean and simple, a living room with a small TV and loveseat, frayed curtains. Polished hardwood floors and a huge, absolutely massive stuffed poodle plushie in the center. So unlike Yuuri’s cramped space cluttered with nonsense. 

“Sorry if it’s messy-“

Yuuri snorted. “Don’t.” The wallpaper was like his own, peeling and yellowed with age. “You want me to put this on that corner over there?”

Viktor had thought this through, his clean handiwork proved by the faint scent of Fabuloso. “Yeah.”

Viktor took care of the litterbox while Yuuri stripped the sides of cardboard, tucking a large and old sweater. “Who’s going to bring Midnight? The kittens won’t be that hard, but Midnight seems a bit sassy?”

“You don’t know me, Viktor,” Yuuri said solemnly. “I am the cat whisperer.”

“We’ll see. I have Band-Aids.”

-

Routines, Yuuri used to believe, were terrible. Redundant. Insipidly soul-sucking and a result of capitalism. Gone were his days where he woke up to his alarm and dreaded his existence and had an essay to look forward to, a run being his only form of catharsis. But three weeks passed, and the kittens finally opened their eyes, their tails sprung and personalities present. The two tabbies were a little skittish and playful, but the tortoiseshell, now she was magical. And Yuuri, well. He was weak.

Midnight lounged on Viktor’s loveseat, waiting for Yuuri’s customary petting session. It was a slight transition, but Yuuri barely spent time in his apartment now that Viktor had four companions and lots of litter to clean. With this habituation came a growing number of pictures and candids of endless kittens and Viktor cuddling with them. Mostly in his phone, and slowly but surely dominating his Wall. “What did Otabek say?” He asked, stroking the soft pads of their paws.

Viktor put his biology textbook aside, his glasses askew. “Well, he’s taking two of them. The tabbies.”

“Two?” Now that was lucky.

“Well, one for him and one for his roommate Yuri. Apparently, they don’t want to share more than they have to.”

Yuuri whistled, impressed. “Wow. And Mila’s taking Midnight the day after?”

“Yeah, and she’ll be getting fixed. Vaccines. We’re great parents if you think about it.”

Of course the kittens still had another two months with them, or until they were weaned off completely but still. The idea of saying bye to the tortie AKA Makkachin was a bit painful. “No, Yuuri. I know what you’re thinking. Makkachin is mine.”

“Joint-custody is always an option and we’re neighbors. Don’t be selfish.”

“I’m selfish? Look at you. You’re hogging the cats and I’m here, studying for this midterm.”

Yuuri ignored him regardless of the blooming blush on his cheeks. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the dance festival? It starts in two hours, not including rehearsal.”

They agreed to meet up at the campus park, mostly due to Viktor’s insistence. For some odd and very suspicious reason, Viktor didn’t want Yuuri to see his final “draft” (Viktor’s word choice, not his), or the music selection. It was a great day as well, perfect enough to make him wonder where it could go wrong. The rain finally made a full stop, the sky the bluest of blues on an average spring day. Yuuri had prepped his equipment, excitement and apprehension coursing through him because he’s never truly seen Viktor perform since the Winter Festival was cancelled due to a horrible snow storm.

And because he prided himself in being a moderately nice human being, he gave Viktor a final and warning glare. “I’ll be seeing you there.”

-

The Uber dropped him off at the outskirts of the park, but people were done assembling chairs and testing the speakers. He could hear the chatter, smell the aromas, and taste the enthusiasm. The taco stand was swarmed, as was the Italian subs tent. He set his stuff up near the front, where he would be able to see Viktor. And the other dancers. Some rehearsed on the stage and other performers touched up their makeup or costumes. The banner was a vivid wine red, large letters and overall, he was pretty satisfied with the aesthetic. Yuuri barely had time to pick out an outfit or really do anything special with his appearance. It was a little disconcerting to see everyone dressed to impress and all he wore was a t-shirt and jeans. Of all the times when his appearance actually mattered, and really, he wasn’t that surprised. His wardrobe mostly consisted of nerdy button-ups and chino pants, and what can he say for himself now? Just melt into a puddle of shame, really.

Before he could contemplate how to kill time and dignity, a younger man settled next to him with the darkest of scowls, his blond hair pulled up in a small man-bun. “Viktor told me to keep you company,” he said flatly, giving a side-eye so vicious Yuuri wondered how Viktor managed to handle the guy with his sunny disposition.

“Um, really?”

“I’m Yuri. And Otabek is coming in a bit because he wants me to stay alive.”

It all clicked. The ones taking the tabbies. “Oh. Okay. Well, I’m also Yuuri. Do you know if Viktor’s already here? I know the commute is pretty long.”

Yuri finally turned around, and he was way more intimidating than Yuuri was expecting. But his eyes, like Viktor’s, were cerulean and soul-sucking. It had to be a Russian thing. “You’re Yuuri? The ‘irresistible neighbor’?” Ah, yes. Answering a question with a question.

Yuuri knew his face was a deep shade of crimson. “No! Just Yuuri.” Oh, god. ‘Irresistible neighbor’. That was new. Yuri still stared at him, a raised and perfectly crafted eyebrow emphasized by a dubious smirk.

“Don’t worry. Your _Viktor_ is here, he’s backstage.” The program was shoved in Yuuri’s hand with an impatient huff.  

The way he said that was reminiscent to Phichit’s early departure, but Yuuri chose to ignore it. He didn’t think he’d have this type of introduction quite soon, so he focused his attention on his equipment, determined to capture the hubbub and not think about any potential implications. The crowd was growing in size, and Yuri’s muttered vulgar commentary was the most hilarious thing since Viktor’s epic fall from the stairs. It became slightly chillier, the goosebumps on his arms and numbing nose were strong indicators, but mind over matter he reminded himself. The stage finally cleared itself of staff, and only complementary waiting music made it clear that the performances would soon begin.

“Hello, everyone. Good afternoon or evening, it’s evening, my bad.” Minami. Wow. He looked completely different clad in a suit, his red fringe styled and matching the curtains. “Tonight, we’ll be presenting the annual UniDance Festival. We’re collaborating with the high school and senior citizen center. After that follows our dance department’s interpretations of seduction. And then, our No-Talent Talent show will blow your socks off. So please, sit tight or help yourself to the food. We’ll be starting in two minutes!”

Yuri irately clicked his tongue, but was shushed by a deep voice. And Yuuri would’ve shut up as well, only Yuri swatted the stranger’s arm. “You said you’d be here in fifteen minutes!”

The man ran a hand through his hair, clearly used to Yuri’s antics and simply amused. “I just got out of work.”

“Yeah, I can _smell_ it,” Yuri said with a glare.

The man offered his hand, his serious demeanor softened by a wry smile. “I’m Otabek. You must be the other Yuri. The better one.”

“I’ll slit your throat.” The fondness still managed to creep through and Yuuri grinned, unperturbed by the petty threat. “I wouldn’t say better, but thank you.“

“The performance is starting so you fuckers better shut up.”

It was so unexpected, but the upbeat and romantic guitar showcased four Hispanic women, donned in red dresses and glittered sashes. A man with a guitar behind them, and another hand clapper hidden in the curtain’s shadow. It was the Spanish flamenco, and the red on red on red was perfect. Music flowed from the speakers, people in the audience swayed with whispers of “oh my god”. The transitions were phenomenal, Yuuri hasn't been this exhilarated since Christophe’s performance three years ago. The flamenco was a perfect way to enrapture the audience from the get-go, and without a break, the women disappeared, replaced by Muslim women halting the music with spoken word. Shot after shot, Yuuri could feel the fizzing energy in the audience. Men in tights pranced and gyrated their hips, Christophe in the center. It was this that he missed about dancing. The fluidity of movement, speaking with his body, no stuttering to taint his conveyed message, no anxiety to seep and dominate. And letting that go didn’t bother him, surprisingly, it only made him wonder what else he could do. He’s done everything. Dance, play violin, write short stories. One man, many hats, Viktor loved to croon with a gentle hair ruffle. And Viktor, well he didn’t expect any less.

Viktor was stunning, he was just breath-taking in every sense of the word. Right under the spotlight, the planes of his face elegantly showcasing every pleasant aspect of his body. Yuuri barely had time to be enthralled. The projector screen slowly descended, and music Yuuri remembered so well began to play. And what was stranger was the fact that Yuuri could see that it was _him_ on the screen. Him, three years ago performing at the local theatre. “Stay Close to Me” was a song his instructor had chosen, and as he danced on the screen, Viktor joined as well, his movements mirroring Yuuri’s. The entire crowd was silent, save for the grills sizzling food and Viktor’s delicate footstep on stage. Yuuri remembered every move and curve, position and second, and he couldn’t help but be in awe with how Viktor easily matched the ghost of a person who no longer existed. He looked at the program crumpled in his hand. 

> _Laura Moreno_
> 
> _Yolanda Rodriguez_
> 
> _Patricia Cruz_ ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………… **Flamenco; Original Composition**
> 
> _Natalia Iturbirde_
> 
> Carlos Serrano

Looked at Viktor’s name, and wondered how he could’ve missed that. 

> _Viktor Nikiforov_ ……………………………………………………………………………………" **Aria: Stammi Vicino, Non Te Ne Andare”; A Confession**

The cheers were deafening and well-deserved. He had to make sure his camera didn’t slip from his hands as Viktor’s movie star smile blinded everyone, bombastic cheers threatening the safety of his ear drums.

His chest was heaving from the exertion of his performance, and all Yuuri could do was numbly process the fact that Viktor was leaving the stage. Skirted its stairs with ease. Swiftly throwing himself around Yuuri where everyone could see, muscular frame engulfing him in a hug under the spotlight. “You did great.” Yuuri whispered within the uproar, not sure why he whispered, and Viktor nodded, the flush in his ears assured by excitement. And because Viktor loved surprising everyone including Yuuri himself, Viktor pressed his lips on his temple, then his cupid’s bow. It was tender, and soft, much softer than he expected. And as shell-shocking as it was, he was pretty sure the whistles from the audience were not an illusion. “You make me so happy, Yuuri.”

He wanted to say “You also do” but he bit his tongue as a tender fire consumed him, running it over his bottom lip where Viktor didn’t touch. For the first time in his life, he wanted a dance festival to end.

-

He almost expected Viktor to say something, to offer an explanation or fill the gaps with something. Anything. Because Yuuri felt it, he felt his heart in his ears and sweat on his palms. Everything Viktor did made his mind hyperaware, consuming his mind space in ways that made him nauseous. The festival ended on a high note, but people were already heading home. Food tents were being taken down and the other Yuri left with something akin to pride for Viktor’s performance and confession. “That’s how it’s done, Otabek. Take notes,” he had said with a smirk.

But those moments were long gone and it was just him and Viktor, just them both on the street corner again with a slightly invigorating drizzle.

“I ordered an Uber,” Viktor said breezily. He shook his head, concentrating on the red dot on the map. “Are you cold?”

That’s not why he was shivering, but before he could protest, Viktor shook off his hoodie and placed it over his shoulders. And traces of Viktor’s cologne only pushed him further to the edge. The amount of times he’s woken up to that scent in the mornings, goodness. “Thanks.” This was Viktor, with his strong jaw, beautiful eyes, swept hair, nebular smile. And Yuuri couldn’t help but look at his reflection on the building, take in his faded t-shirt, ripped jeans, and old Converse. Viktor was taking _him_ to dinner, even though he didn’t perform. The madness of it all.

It was like when they first met. Yuuri couldn’t keep his composure or make his anxiety ebb. “You’re in the mood for something casual? Steak or ribs. Chinese?”

He didn’t think his stomach would be capable of holding food, but damn it. “I could go for some ribs,” he admitted, avoiding Viktor’s probing gaze.

The silence hung in the air and Yuuri was prepared for the guillotine. “You’re nervous.” He said it matter-of-factly, with no room for argument. And because Viktor was Viktor and Yuuri knew that, he felt the small of his back patted gently. He could note the hesitance as his hand was completely covered by Viktor’s, with an almost childish brush of knuckles. And then they linked their fingers, Yuuri unsure of whether to pull away. A squeeze. “Yuuri. You’re very nervous. So unlike Makkachin.”

That made him huff out a laugh. The image of Makkachin throwing herself shamelessly over the coffee table, tail flicking playfully and meows begging for attention. “You’re taking me to dinner. To celebrate _my_ past performances, not yours.” 

“What about the most important part?” Viktor mused. “You haven’t said anything about the confession.” Whether that was meant to be suave or not, Yuuri knew when Viktor was nervous. Couldn’t distinguish the sweat between their palms anymore.

“W-We’re holding hands.”

Viktor snorted. “Yes, we are.”

“You make me nervous, Viktor. You know that, right? I’m literally dying.”

“You also make nervous, don’t negate that, it’s your fault—“

_“Me?”_

Their conversation was cut short by the Uber, and Yuuri swallowed his bout of incredulous rage like his life depended on it and got inside (Viktor’s hand never letting go). What’s interesting is how soft the pads of Viktor’s finger were. So soft, unlike his own calloused violin playing ones. He should let go. He should let go of his hand.

The drive wasn’t that long, and even in this confined space, their thighs touching, Yuuri knew that this was too much of an ideal reality. Holding Viktor’s hand in the dark, heading to a restaurant after a celebration of the arts. A concoction of everything he loved. More than he should anyway.

They stopped in front of a small diner/pub, and stepped inside. It was dark, and considering the circumstances, very crowded. The host led them to a booth, lit by a single candle. Yuuri hastily took off the hoodie, hating how Viktor’s cologne lingered on his neck. He perused through the menu, already sure of what he was going to order. No eye contact, hopefully. This was a date. A Date. Yuuri knew what those were, he could remember taking Yuko to them vividly.

“You didn’t answer my question, Yuuri.”

“You never asked a question.” He pressed his glasses closer to his face.

“Don’t be cheeky.”

And really, what was he supposed to say? Yeah, Viktor, we’re obviously Together, like together-together. Stop asking questions. But then again, he could be wrong, maybe Viktor was confused. After all, their friendship didn’t have that many boundaries. It could easily be mistaken for romance. “I find it a bit hard to believe you.”

Viktor looked up with a thoughtful frown. “What makes you think I’m not being honest?”

“I mean, look at you. You could do so much better.” There, it was laid on the table.

“Yuuri.” Viktor leaned on his chair and looked up, closing his eyes. If only Yuuri had his camera. His frustration was picture perfect. So purposeful in those two syllables that make his name. “My Yuuri. You’re a double-edged sword. Have you truly looked at yourself? Do you how many times I had to work myself up to even approach to you? To ask Christophe for your number? Now that was, uh, embarrassing. But look where we are.”

There was no better timing honestly. The waiter asked what they would like to drink, and Yuuri gladly asked for a glass of water, a wedge of lemon on the side. His mouth was dry and his chest in a flurry of warmth. Viktor requested strawberry lemonade, and without batting an eye, locked his gaze again with absolute seriousness. He had Viktor’s undivided attention. “I’m not confident. We’ve established that. But. What if you don’t really, what if this doesn’t work? And I disappoint you.”

He could see the inner workings of Viktor’s mind on Viktor’s face. Frustration, beyond exasperated, tinged with annoyance. Perfect. “We’re practically together if you think about it. And that’s life in general, I think. Throwing yourself at improbabilities and hoping for the best. And I was honest. You make me happy, it’s not that hard to understand.”   

The way Viktor said it did make sense, but Yuuri took a large gulp of his water anyway and wondered. “How?” That, he couldn’t fathom. Him, make Viktor happy? If anything, it was Viktor who made him happy, who inspired him to do and be more. To stop being passive, to take initiative with his art and life.

“How?” Viktor echoed. “Well, you’re the reason I started dancing again. Dancing for myself that is. You make me feel comfortable with being uncomfortable. Does that make sense?”

“Not really.”

“Well, you have plenty of time to figure it out,” Viktor said with a grin, lacing their fingers as if it happened every day. It will now, and the thought made him inexplicably smug.

The waiter came back, noting their joined hands with approval. “What will you both be ordering this evening?”

Viktor opened his mouth and scowled, ready to stop Yuuri from saying the same words every time but it was too late. A routine almost terribly predictable. Yuuri shrugged and gestured to Viktor, his grin creeping up even though he fought hard to contain it. “I’ll have what he’s having.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you if you read til the very end. Please let me know what you think! :^)


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